


A Few Steps Back

by QueenHarleyQuinn



Series: Forward and Back [2]
Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Emotional Constipation, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, They're not very good at being ex boyfriends, tarantino typical language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-11-02 03:07:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenHarleyQuinn/pseuds/QueenHarleyQuinn
Summary: “I-I love you, buddy,” Rick says, stepping forward despite the wobble in his knees and tears in his eyes. “But I-I need time and space and sometimes -- sometimes I can’t think straight around you.”Rick reaches out for Cliff’s hands, tries to twine them together but Cliff’s fingers are limp and loose at his sides. Rick looks up, searching for any kind of understanding - because even at Rick’s weakest Cliff is there, nodding and knowing.But Cliff’s just turns away, looks up at the sky and says, “Alright.”(Loose sequel to How Many Steps Forward, set post Bounty Law but pre-1969)





	A Few Steps Back

** _“Your lover who just walked out your door_ **

** _Has taken all his blankets from the floor_ **

** _The carpet, too, is moving under you_ **

** _And it's all over now, baby blue”_ **

** _Dion_ **

** _It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue_ **

“So that’s it? We’re done?” Cliff asks, crushing a cigarette with the heel of his shoe. Rick stares at the motion and get’s a little caught up in the symbolism as they stand out there in the backyard at two am. June 1967 was turning out to be a real bitch.

“Wh-what? No, that’s not what I’m s-saying at all.” Rick splutters. He runs his hands over his face, frustrated and scared. Wishing he could hide. 

“You sure about that?”

The moonlight bounces off the pool and shines back on both of them, all wavy and warped. And Rick might be able to lie to himself and say that’s why it’s hard to look at Cliff right now.

“I-I love you, buddy,” Rick says, stepping forward despite the wobble in his knees and tears in his eyes. “But I-I need time and space and sometimes -- sometimes I can’t think straight around you.”

Rick reaches out for Cliff’s hands, tries to twine them together but Cliff’s fingers are limp and loose at his sides. Rick looks up, searching for any kind of understanding - because even at Rick’s weakest Cliff is there, nodding and knowing. 

But Cliff’s just turns away, looks up at the sky and says, “Alright.”

And maybe they both should have realized that this is what the beginning of the end looks like.

**(01) Fuck Up One**

Two months into - fuck, what even is this? Unemployment? No, that’s not entirely right because Cliff gets this pathetic little gig working the reels at the drive-in. He’s in his fourties doing a job for fuckin’ teenagers.

And unemployment doesn’t usually come with his much heartache, as far as Cliff knows.

Anyway, two months after Cliff and Rick part ways, Cliff meets Natalie.

And she’s terrible - loud and mouthy and mean. Probably one of the worst people Cliff’s ever met but she’s good to Brandy, makes half decent food in his shit little kitchen and is something to fuck. The first and third points go a long way.

A month after that, on a drunken whim, they drive to Vegas and get hitched.

What a goddamn mistake.

**(02) Fuck Up Two**

Rick hears sirens getting closer as he’s driving so he does the responsible thing and starts to pull over so the ambulance or fire truck or whatever can pass him by.

It’s only when he starts to tug on the wheel that he realizes the sirens are for him.

Because he’s crashed his car.

Fuck.

Rick looks at the pole his grille and hood are currently bent around and thanks God that it’s not a person or car he’s slammed into. Jesus fucking christ, what a mess. How the fuck does this happen?

Oh yeah...four martinis. Plus the beers before he left the house. Shit.

His lip is bleeding from hitting the steering wheel and his body feels bruised from the seatbelts, but at least he’s alive.

A uniform and flashlight approach him, “Sir, can you step out of the car?”

Alive and in a lot of trouble.

They don’t give a shit that he’s Rick Dalton and honestly, that hurts a whole lot worse than any injury he could have sustained. Yeah, they recognize him and crack a few  _ Bounty Law _ jokes but other than that he’s a fucking regular drunk driver. A lawyer has to talk down the situation until they let him off with a huge fucking ticket but no court date, thank Jesus.

Oh, and they revoke his license. 

“Are y-you goddamn serious?” Rick asks, eyebrows damn close to his hairline. “How the fuck am I-I-I supposed to get home? What about the studio?”

The lawyer shrugs, “Cab. I’ll mail you my bill.”

Rick eyes the payphone in the lobby of the police station. A sweat breaks out over his forehead just thinking about it but he figures he might as well try. It was him and his stupid, selfishness that messed everything up. Calling couldn’t make anything worse...could it?

The phone rings for a long time. Rick figures he deserves that.

“Cliff, old buddy?” Rick greets, a little shy and nervous when the call goes through.

“Who the fuck is this?” Answers back an angry, feminine voice. And it turns out that hurts worst of all.

“Rick Dalton, who the f-fuck is this?” He hisses.

Distantly he hears Cliff say, “Now, what’d I say about picking up my phone?”

“It’s  _ our _ phone now, smartass.”

“Give it here,” Cliff says, still muffled, before he says, “Hello?”

“H-hey,” Rick says before clearing his throat, “It’s Rick.”

A beat. “I know.”

“Yeah.”

Another long beat. Rick has to swallow the jealous, needy question of  _ who is she _ so he can get to the sad, embarrassing question of  _ will you help me. _

“What’s goin’ on?” Cliff asks. Not impatient, never truly impatient with Rick even when he deserves it. But still, Rick knows Cliff well enough to know that this is the politest version of  _ why the fuck are you calling me _ . And Rick knows not to push it further than that.

“I’m in a b-bit of a bind. Think you could -- could help me out for old time sake?”

Another long beat. Rick’s hands shake as he holds the phone and he’s exhausted from since all the booze and adrenaline has left his body. He wants to go home. He wants things to be how they were nine years ago when it was all new.

“Sure,” Cliff finally says, “Where are you?”

**(03) Fuck Up Three - You’re Outta Here**

Working for Rick again is weird, especially in this capacity where he’s more chauffeur than stunt double. And especially since they drive with the radio turned up and sunglasses on like they’ve never kissed or fucked or fallen asleep in the others arms. Like they’re strangers.

How the fuck are you supposed to go from pounding someone in the ass to driving them around like you don’t even know them?

Doesn’t help that every time Cliff checks the rearview mirror he sees death tailing him, because God only knows how long this pitiful charade will last. How many times does this relationship need to be run over before it finally kicks it?

At least once more, it would seem. Always once more.

They film a few guest spots. The stunt work is light but that doesn’t matter much to Cliff because it pays. And it’s enough money for Natalie to notice and suggest a vacation. Because they’ve never traveled together (except for Vegas) and they never honeymooned properly ((aside from Vegas)) and  _ c’mon, let’s be reckless _ (((like in Vegas))).

Fuck that place, honestly. 

Cliff relents because agreeing is easier than dealing with all the nagging. They drive down to Tijuana and Natalie complains the whole way about how they should’ve flown. Cliff does his best to focus on the lines of the road and the music and not her voice. Anything but her voice.

They’re in the middle of a fight when Natalie decides that she’s had enough and jumps off the boat - to literally cool off or get away from him, Cliff doesn’t know. He rolls his eyes and watches as she swims away from him in beautiful teal waters. And then he watches as a wave crashes over her.

And then he panics as minutes pass by and she doesn’t resurface.

He dives in but it’s too late. Death’s got her, and Cliff knows he’s fucked.

“Rick,” Cliff says, running a hand through his hair, “It might be a minute before I’m back in L.A.”

“Wh-what? Why? What’s going on?” And Cliff can picture the worry lines between Rick’s brows, the slight down turn of his lips. Those big, begging eyes.

And there’s no easy way of saying it, so Cliff just says clenches his jaw and bites the bullet, “Natalie drowned and now I’m in some hot water with the Federales.”

And maybe this was how it was always supposed to play out - Cliff tries to be realistic, he knows that his life was bound to fall apart eventually. He’s always been a little too comfortable with death and loss and hurt, a little numb to it. So maybe it makes sense that he’s in a building that looks like a sneeze could tear it down, with a bilingual lawyer telling him to keep his fucking mouth shut. Maybe he’s supposed to rot in Mexican prison.

“Holy shit.” Rick whispers, obviously stunned.

“Yeah. So don’t be too surprised if you’re contacted by authorities or something.”  _ And don’t be too surprised if I never come back _ .

“You h-h-have a lawyer?”

Cliff eyes the spindly looking man with a briefcase, monitoring his every word. “Sure do.”

“Good, good. Aw fuck, Cliff, is -- is there anything I can do? I owe you, y’know. Do you need money? Another l-lawyer? Shit, I’ll get you ten if that would help. Or -- Or I could fly down and make a character statement or whatever the f-fuck they call it. Or-”

Cliff smiles and huffs a humorless laugh, “Thanks boss, but don’t worry about me. Might need you to go check on Brandy though.”

“Sure thing, pal, I can head over to the vet right n-now.”

Cliff grins again because it’s around three AM and the vet sure as shit ain’t open, “In the morning will be just fine.”

And those are the last words he says to Rick for about a month.

**(04) And Still I’ll Care For You**

“Lord, we’re quite a p-pair, aren’t we?” Rick mutters as he strikes a match and lights his cigarette in the kitchen. Brandy looks up at him with big, confused eyes. Half of her dinner remains in the bowl and she won’t touch it no matter how much Rick begs.

They’ve been moping and waiting for the better part of three weeks. Neither of them quite sure what to do without Cliff Booth.

You’d think that Rick would have more experience with it by now. You’d think that he’d stop leaving room for Cliff on the other side of the mattress or that he’d stop scrambling so many eggs in the morning. You’d think he’d be used to that fucking empty feeling. He’s the one who created it, him and his goddamn ego.

But he’s not used to it. Not at all. So he’ll walk Brandy, feed her and play with her, make phone calls to to whoever the fuck he can think of to try to expedite the investigation of Natalie’s disappearance - but mostly he’ll mope. And he’ll wait.

(And Brandy takes up that other half of the mattress and does a fine job of getting Rick up in the morning and back to bed at a reasonable hour. And if Cliff had any goddamn clue that his dog was taking care of Rick, he’d be damn proud. Not exactly surprised, but proud nonetheless.)

The knock at the door almost makes Rick’s heart leap out of his chest. It certainly makes Brandy leap off the couch, her tail wagging all the while. That’s all the evidence that Rick needs to know that Cliff is on the other side.

He opens the door and it takes everything inside him, every ounce of self control and sense, to not jump him right then, on the doorstep for all of Cielo drive to see. Rick has to stuff his hands in his pockets to make sure they don’t wander anywhere else.

“You two been spoiling each other rotten?” Cliff asks, taking Brandy’s massive head in both of his hands. Her grin is about as big and dopey as Rick’s.

“Only a little.”

It tears his fucking heart out when Cliff leads Brandy out of the house and into his car. And Rick just stands by the window, watching with a knot in his throat. Cliff’s back and Rick wants that to be enough. It need to be enough.

But he might never get  _ his _ Cliff back - the one who tucks him into bed at night only to pull him out the next morning. The one who says all the right things, low and sincere. The one he hasn’t had in months.

Why the fuck did he think space was the thing he needed?

**(05) All I Have To Do Is Dream**

“Hello?” Cliff mumbles, face pressed into the phone’s receiver as he lies on his stomach. Brandy’s next to him on the bed, ears pointed and alert from the ringing. Cliff’s eyes are heavy - each blink slow and lazy and closer to sleep. “Hello?” He tries one more time.

“H-hey pal.”

And, yeah, Cliff probably should’ve seen this coming a mile away. Who the fuck else does he know that would call him this late? Who the fuck else does he know  _ at all _ ?

He wonders, almost bitterly, what the fuck it could be this time. Each of them have taken turns being knee deep in shit and calling the other desperately for help. That was who they were now, it would seem.

The last dregs of 1967 has left them hollower and more distant than they ever had been before. Cliff’s never been one of those New Year’s resolutions types, never thought there was any point pinning so much pressure to change on one day...but now he half hopes that when January first rolls around that things will be different. 

They don’t have to be  _ fixed _ . He gets it if his allotted time with Rick Dalton is up. He treasures those nine solid years before death reared his ugly head to take it all away. Cliff just wants death to pick a side, goddamnit. Because he can’t take much more of this.

“I -- god, this is fuckin’ stupid, I just h-had this dream,” Rick sighs heavy, “nevermind.”

“Go on,” Cliff prompts before Rick can back out or hang up, “tell me what happened.”

Cliff can hear Rick swallow hard, “We were back on the lot, my first tr-trailer. You remember th-that? The little one before everythin’ got upgraded for season two?” And Cliff does remember, he remembers everything about the early days. 

“And e-everything was all black ‘n white. And I was in the trailer, t-trying to get you inside for lord knows what. And -- and you c-couldn’t hear me. You were on the outside, walking away, off into the sunset and I-I…”

Silence falls between them like the kind of fresh snow Cliff hasn’t seen in a long, long time. Cold but gentle.

“Goddamn, I shouldn’t’ve called,” Rick mutters, like a steel-toed boot stamping on that fresh snow. “Fuck,” and then he hangs up.

**(06) You Send Me**

Rick figures that if he can’t fall back to sleep he might as well make himself a drink at four in the goddamn morning. He’s so glad these houses are on sizable lots because the last thing he wants to do is wake up the whole neighborhood with his blender. 

He’ll make a margarita, maybe float out in the pool, and hope that the combination of the two will relax him. 

And between the record he put on and the noise of ice being crushed he can’t hear Cliff’s knock at the door. He doesn’t quite hear the doorbell ringing either. So while he’s midway through salting the rim of his glass, Rick gets the feeling that he’s being watched. When he turns Cliff is just  _ there _ , like a fucking ghost.

“Holy shit! Don’t sneak up on m-me like that. Jesus,” Rick laughs nervously, “How’d you get in?”

Cliff holds up his spare key and it glints in the light. Oh yeah. Rick never asked for that back. It’s probably a good thing he didn’t, all things considered. For two people who weren’t supposed to be involved anymore, there were still tangled up together, weren’t they?

“Why’d you end things, Rick?” Cliff asks, to the point. Rick shouldn’t expect anything less, really.

Cliff watches as Rick gulps. He watches as Rick rolls the empty glass between his palms. “I-I-I told you. I didn’t -- fuck, I didn’t  _ end  _ anything, I just wanted-”

Cliff nods, “Time. Space. Yeah.” and his jaw tenses and Rick thinks this is it, all that zen and patience might finally have been worn away by Rick’s idiocy. “I need a real reason, Rick. Because if you want me to go I can do that, and if you want me to stay I can do that too. But I can’t do both. I can’t drive you around and not think about how much I want you to be mine again.” 

“It’s-- I,” Rick’s throat tightens and his face reddens, “I need you so goddamn much, Cliff. All the time. A-always. I feel like a g-godamn leech, sometimes. Like I can’t -- like I’m not good enough on my o-own. Like all my good comes from you.”

And that’ winds Cliff more than any punch to the gut ever could.

“I can’t live this l-life without you, buddy, and that scares the shit out of me.” Rick whispers as tears collect in his eyes. “And I think you sh-should fuckin’ hate me for that.”

All the pieces fall into place for Cliff. In that moment as tears run down Ricks face and the margarita in the pitcher starts melting. As the record skips absently from the living room. As the rest of the city snoozes or finally falls into bed from a late night or just wakes up, ready to start their day. 

Cliff knows that he does a lot for Rick, he  _ knows _ that he’s been carrying a lot of that load for a long time now. He knows all the places were Rick is fragile and he does his best to protect those places and shoulder the extra weight. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. You help them.

“No more of this  _ pal _ and  _ buddy  _ shit, alright? I love you, Rick Dalton. Don’t you get that? You’re it for me.” Cliff says as he grabs Rick by the hips. 

Rick clutches him, clings on like he’s the only safe place in a storm. “M’so selfish-”

And it feels good to have Rick back in his arms, even if he’s crying. “C’mon, baby - I’m selfish too, don’t you know that? Don’t you know that I need so goddamn much? You make me feel strong and good and sane - Fuck, I  _ love _ you for that.”

Cliff cups Rick’s face, partly to wipe away the tears and partly because he just wants to. “Tell me you love me, baby. Tell me you don’t want me to go.”

And those big, beautiful eyes look right up at him. “I love you and I don’t want you to go.”

Rick still feels guilty, still feels like scum but when Cliff kisses him it all vanishes. Wet lips and biting teeth and big hands that keep him grounded. His whole world narrowed down to Cliff Booth. Cliff licks into his mouth and it’s perfect. Cliff lifts him onto the counter and that’s even better. 

They part and Cliff has this ridiculous, smug grin, “You think you’re the leech? I’ve been riding your fuckin’ coattails for nine years.”

“Cliff-”

“I mean it. Shit, Rick - don’t keep score, alright? We need each other. That’s just how it is.”

Rick’s always amazed that Cliff can make it all so simple. 

** _“Darling, you send me_ **

** _I know you send me_ **

** _Darling, you send me_ **

** _Honest you do, honest you do”_ **

** _Sam Cooke_ **

** _You Send Me_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood for a break up and make up story and that's the only reason this exists. Is it any good? I have no idea but it's nearly three AM and I'm posting it anyway. That's just how it is folks.
> 
> Also small 50s/60s playlist of love songs that directly influenced this fic  
1\. It's All Over Now, Baby Blue - Dion  
2\. Anyone Who Knows What Love Is - Irma Thomas  
3\. All I Have To Do Is Dream - The Everly Brothers  
4\. You Send Me - Same Cooke
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
